Cool Your Jets, New Yorkers.

Yeesh. What happened to that “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere” business you guys like to sing about so much? That can't really be the case now, can it? Especially considering the fact that none of you can handle temperatures that are, by Texas standards, downright mild.

Hey, we get it: We'd be cranky, too, if we didn't have the foresight to anticipate global warming and install glorious central air conditioning throughout our fair state. Or, y'know, if we lived in a city that's infested with bed bugs.

I mean, you came after us for our lack of good food? As any so-called tough guy New Yorker should know, it's stupid to pick fights you just can't win. How are you going to pretend that NYC's propensity for beyond inferior bastardizations of ethnic food, over-priced tasting menus and ubiquitous, rubbery slices of pizza — which even New Yorkers will admit isn't even that good — is even in the same ballpark as our barbecue and Tex-Mex? You just can't get that stuff up north. And, yeah, we do feel a bit sorry for you on that front. We'd probably be pretty full of piss and vinegar if we knew that the trendiest restaurants in Brooklyn were just shitty versionsof what you could get at any roadside stand in East Texas.

Hey, if you're going to rip on us, maybe you should focus on our soon-to-be horrible abortion laws. Then maybe we'd listen to what you have to say.

We'll give you this, though: You sure do have us licked in the hubris and volume departments, though. And that's something.

Speaking of hubris: It takes more than a little bit of that to brag about how much your city smells like urine. But, hey, if you find bodily discharge a more pleasing scent than the smell of, say, bluebonnets, then maybe Texas just isn't for you.

That's OK, you probably couldn't handle living here, anyway. A couple of summers ago we faced 100-degree temperatures for 40 straight days. And you know what we did on Day 41, when the day's high only reached 97? We took to social media to bitch — not because it was so hot out, mind you, but because we were disappointed we didn't reach the record-setting 42-day mark.

Anyway, buck up guys. The heat will be over soon enough.

Then you'll be able to go back to getting stopped and frisked, fighting the tourists for a square foot of grass to sit on in Central Park, and waiting three hours to get a table at that $285 prix fixe restaurant.